


Notes

by imagining_supernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Barista Dean Winchester, Coffee Shops, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, coffee shop fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagining_supernatural/pseuds/imagining_supernatural
Summary: Dean Winchester is a barista at the coffee shop that you always go to and, well, you know how coffee shop aus go :)





	Notes

          “Let me guess,” Dean’s low, gruff voice greeted you when you swept into the coffee shop. Despite the dreary, drizzly, New York spring day, you found a smile fighting its way onto your face. “Coconut milk mocha macchiato?”

          “Are you psychic?” you teased, unwinding the scarf from your neck and stuffing it into your bag.

          He winked at you and turned to begin preparing your drink. You’d been coming to this shop for as long as you could remember. Growing up in the Big Apple, there were tons of coffee shops to choose from, but your mother had always taken you to this shop in her rush to get you off to school in time for her to get to work. In the two years since she’d passed away, you’d come here every single morning to feel closer to her.

          And in the last few months, you’d looked forward to your daily coffee run more than usual since a familiar pair of green eyes usually greeted you when you walked up to the counter.

          Now, you leaned against the counter and watched Dean’s movements. This man could be a model. In fact, you’d snuck enough sketches to prove that he translated well onto paper, though the 2D image didn’t do him justice.

          “What if I ordered something new one day? Would you have a heart attack?”

          He laughed. “That’s not gonna happen.”

          “It could,” you replied lightly.

          Dean turned around and caught your eyes, grinning. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

          The doors opened, letting in a swarm of tired New Yorkers and a gust of cold air. Dean slid your finished drink to you and you handed him your usual payment. Lifting your drink in a thanks, you retreated to your usual corner table. This table gave you the best view for you to sketch the busy street. But, before you took out your sketchbook, you turned the cup around until you found Dean’s note.

          He’d started writing you little notes a few weeks after he started working and noticed that you came in every day. At first they’d been cute little notes between strangers, then they turned teasing when this weird friendship of yours bloomed. More recently, they’d turned flirty.

          He didn’t know it, but you kept every note. Cutting out the piece of the cup he wrote on, you’d started pinning them to your wall in your room. At first, you thought about it like an art project. A visual progression of friendship between two strangers. The first note said, _You look cute today:)._ Notes like that turned into more familiar notes like, _Long day yesterday? The cinnamon roll is on the house._

          Somewhere around that point, your art project turned into an automatic smile every time you saw that wall.

          It didn’t take you long to find his note today: _If I was psychic, I’d be able to see if a date is in our future._

* * *

          Dean kept you in the corner of his eye, waiting for you to see what he wrote. Luckily, everyone who had walked in after you was a regular and ordered the same thing every day, like you, so he didn’t have to worry about messing up an order by only using half of his attention on his job.

          Ever since he saw you on his first day working here, he’d wanted to ask you out. Usually he had no problem flirting with women, but there was just something different about you. You made him nervous. Or, rather, the idea of your rejection drove him insane. So every day he tried to talk himself into asking for your number, and every day he chickened out.

          Today though… he managed to make a move today.

          Well, sort of.

          “What’d you write this time?” Charlie, his coworker asked. She was obsessed with Dean’s fascination with you. She said that you two were her real life OTP, whatever that meant.

          “I think I asked her out,” Dean replied, putting the lid on the lady’s cup who always wore power suits.

          “You think? What does that even—she’s reading it,” Charlie breathed.

          Dean’s heartbeat hitched and he slowly turned around to give Power Suit Lady her cup so that he could see your reaction. Your eyes scanned the writing and the corner of your mouth quirked up and your cheeks that had finally recovered from being in the cold air colored again. Your eyes darted up and caught him watching. Immediately, you looked away, but your smile grew.

          Charlie elbowed Dean and wiggled her eyebrows when he look at her. “This ship is so sailing.”

          “No idea what that even means,” Dean muttered, trying to get back to work. For the next few minutes, he and Charlie were so busy that he barely had time to wonder what your reaction actually meant. You definitely weren’t disgusted. He didn’t think you would reject him, but he wasn’t sure.

          You just sat at your table and sketched away, sipping at your drink every few minutes. There was the ghost of a smile around your lips the whole time, so Dean took that as a good sign.

          When the rush started slowing down, you stood up and walked over to the counter instead of just waving like usual.

          “The moment of truth,” Charlie whispered do Dean before taking the next customer.  
          You still had a slight blush on your cheeks when you walked up to the counter. “You might not be able to see the future, but I think I can draw it.”

          You handed him a piece of paper from your sketchbook and turned around, walking away with shy smile on your face. Dean watched you walk out until you got lost in the crowded street. Then he flipped the paper over.

          Drawn on the paper was an insanely realistic drawing of a pair of hands holding a phone that, upon closer inspection looked exactly like Dean’s. The screen showed a new contact screen.

          Your name and number were entered into the spaces, one of the thumbs hovering over the _save_ button.

          “Wow,” Charlie breathed. “She’s _really_ good. She even got your ring in there.” Dean looked closer and saw that the hands you’d drawn were, in fact, his. Every detail. Just knowing that you’d paid enough attention to get that level of detail made him practically giddy. Then Charlie pointed to the corner of the page. “What’s that?”

          Dean moved his hand to see what Charlie was talking about. It was a note written in your loopy handwriting.

        _I’m free this weekend if you are._


End file.
